The First Dance
by LetTheLightShine
Summary: Aaron Hotchner, high school senior, finally prepares for prom night. However, memories of his not-so-distant past cause him to question his social abilities and his relationships. Worried for his best friend, Aaron must confront his very worst fear in order to go on. Rated T for child and spousal abuse and mature thematic material
1. Chapter 1 -- Fear

**A/N: I'm really trying to keep this short, a couple chapters in total. I just found that I missed writing here and that some people had requested a story on this topic, so... yeah. Hi, I'm back.**

 **This short story could tie into any of my other Hotch stories. It takes place after Aaron is freed from his abusive home situation. Some details, such as where and with whom he is living now, are left up to the reader. Sections in italics are memories.**

—-

 _This time he knew he would make it all the way up the stairs._

 _He was wrong._

 _A thick hand seized Aaron's shoulder and spun him around. He had only climbed two steps, but once again he hadn't moved fast enough to make it to the top and get out of sight. Right away, he surrendered to what he could not prevent._

 _An open hand smacked across Aaron's face so hard he thought it might have broken the skin. His face became parallel to the ground, back bent almost double, until he steadied himself and straightened up. He tensed up, raised his hands to his face, cowered, waited. He may have looked afraid, but he really wasn't. He was used to this ritual and it no longer frightened him._

" _Are you going to fess up now?" The man looked more frustrated than angry, as if tired of correcting Aaron's offenses. But Aaron said nothing, for he had no idea what he was being accused of now. He had lost track of his offenses—imaginary or not, they just kept piling up._

 _The hands tightened on his shirt._

" _Can't you do anything right?" The man's breath carried a waft of smoke. "Can't you even admit when you've screwed up?"_

 _His homework. His chores. His hair. Aaron desperately ran through the list of things he might have done wrong. Anything was suspect. His voice. His face. His life._

 _A savage jerk ripped Aaron's blue shirt and at the same time heaved him away from the stairs. He moved his feet, not wishing to be dragged into the kitchen. They approached the table, and the man flung him to the floor. The tile was merciless on his palms and chin._

" _Get up, you clumsy animal!"_

 _Aaron tried, and a fist swung down into his face to knock him over to his side._

 _Apparently, today he had done everything wrong._

—ooo—-

Aaron Hotchner couldn't settle the fluttering in his stomach. Five or six neckties with varying colors and designs lay draped over his dresser beside a modest, hand-picked bouquet. On the bed lay collared shirts and coats, some of which were still stiff from being packed away for years. Aaron tried to imagine every possible combination, every detail, that would make his outfit decent. Better than decent. Perfect.

He knew he was fantasizing. He wondered if he even owned a presentable shirt. The blue polo in his hands had tears in both shoulders and brownish stains on the back. He could clearly remember the night the damage was done. If he closed his eyes, he could even taste the tile.

But those days were over. He still couldn't comprehend the absence of violence in his life now. Violence had become routine, like eating breakfast everyday. To escape the violence was almost as jarring as going hungry every morning. Now that he lacked key reliable parts of his everyday life, he felt nervous and unbalanced—his life was suddenly unpredictable. What would he do with all the time he used to spend dispelling someone else's anger and preparing his mind and heart to die?

He wanted to move on, but he could not let go of the vivid reminders. This white shirt with the thin vertical stripes had burn marks on the sleeve. Aaron remembered emptying the vacuum cleaner before it was inflicted. This gray T-shirt with parallel tears across the shoulders—he remembered those fingernails just as clearly as he remembered the plate he'd been washing at the time. A white plate with blue trim and a single blue flower painted in the center. It was a miracle he didn't break it.

His clothes, his memories, his ordinary household actions—all were tied in with suffering. He couldn't separate it, not now, maybe not ever.

Aaron looked over his clothes again, trying to return to his present task. He had never dressed up before, and certainly never in front of his peers. He wondered what the other seniors would be wearing. He wondered what Haley would be wearing.

His first pair of jeans were out of the question. Aaron turned to the second pair and started rubbing out some spots.

Who would wear jeans to prom night?

Aaron sighed. He knew he would be ridiculed, but that was okay. He knew Haley wouldn't mind what he wore.

All the same, he wanted to look nice for her. He finally settled on the striped white shirt, deciding he could cover the burn marks with a dark jacket. Now for a tie.

A little round mirror balanced on the back of the dresser, and Aaron eyed himself closely as he looped each tie in turn under his collar and held it straight down his front. As he examined each option, he glanced back into his own eyes. They were the same eyes that used to glance back at him with purple lining and angry tears.

What was he thinking? All he ever knew was violence. He could not escape it, no matter how hard he tried. Violence was linked to his nature. But what did that mean for him now?

A brown and green tie hung loosely in his hands. He stared at himself, terrified. His greatest fear was looming over him and growing fast, despite all his efforts to deceive himself.

—ooo—-

 _He was finally allowed off the floor and now sat shaking with pain at the table. The man had beaten him soundly while holding a firm hand on the back of his neck to keep him from getting up. With his cheek pressed to the tile, Aaron had tried to keep his eyes level with an overturned bowl that lay fallen on the floor under the chair a few feet away, but every time a blow landed, his gaze jolted up and down from the impact. The bowl went fuzzy. Its colors inverted. Briefly it disappeared altogether, but he blinked the darkness away. The man had repeatedly landed blows to his head, his back, his head, his arms, and all the while Aaron could do nothing but gaze at the bowl._

 _Now it was over. Aaron hunched forward in his chair, clasping his hands under the table. He took long, quivering breaths and his shoulders shook, but he refused to cry. He tried to stop shaking and sit perfectly still so as not to use his back muscles, but the mere act of breathing was enough to make it hurt. Now he stared at a spoon on the table, unable to look up at the furious man nearby._

 _The man looked like a losing political candidate—outraged. He paced a little bit, only to keep ending up standing over Aaron. There he would bellow about all the boy's faults. Aaron didn't know such decibel levels existed. He winced at the shouts and tightened his entwined fingers, but he was not afraid. This treatment did not scare him._

" _You're a disgrace!" yelled the man for perhaps the third time. "I can barely believe we let you appear in public. I can't even look at your miserable face without feeling disgusted."_

 _Aaron nodded, hoping the man would hurry up with the tirade. He just wanted to lie on his face in the dark with bags of ice all over his back. He wouldn't get the chance until the man finished decimating his self esteem and insulting his image. But he_ would _get through this. No fear._

 _A movement in the doorway caused Aaron to look up. He saw his mother standing there holding a terracotta pot brimming with wilted, flaking flowers. The man stopped shouting at the sight of her, but his scowl soured. Mother had the expression of one caught in a crossfire and obviously wanted to back out._

 _The man gestured for her to enter. "Glad you could join us."_

 _Aaron gripped the table edge. Now he felt his heartbeat quickening and the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Now he was afraid._

—ooo—-

Aaron turned a little to the left. Straightened his hair. He turned a little to the right. Unruffled his jacket sleeve. Lined up his red tie with the stripes of his shirt.

" _You'll always be as ugly and unpresentable as your mother!"_

The voice in his memory was like a steely hand on his shoulder, holding him back, making him question everything he wanted to do.

" _Neither of you should ever leave this house! You're a stain on society."_

Aaron took a deep breath. Was he fooling himself? Did Haley secretly think he was a lower form of human being, just like everybody else did? He didn't act like other high schoolers. Clearly there was something wrong with him.

Aaron sat down on the bed. Checked his watch. He was supposed to meet Haley at the school lobby in thirty minutes.

He sat there, immobile. Folded his hands. Hung his head.

He doubted he had the ability to go through with this event. He just knew he would stop functioning halfway through, when everyone realized his manners were coarse and his experience was nil. The man was right. He should stay home.

More than his own inadequacies, something else bothered Aaron. He couldn't kick the fear that reached around his heart, lingered there, nibbling his resolve. He stood up, trying to shake the dreaded feeling that came with the memories. Going out in public was a small potato next to his deepest held fear.

He walked back to the dresser, averting his eyes from his reflection. There he picked up the small bunch of flowers and held them to his face. He smelled them deeply and closed his eyes.

—ooo—-

 _Wilted flowers barely clung to clumps of dirt in the wet sink. Mother's flowers never lasted long. It was as if this home and its trouble had cursed every living thing. Mother emptied each pot with a silent detachment._

 _The man had stopped yelling at Aaron and now watched Mother as he gulped his beer. Aaron wiped his clammy hands on his lap, gaze shifting between the man and the woman. The thought of where his little brother was briefly crossed his mind, but it wasn't a big enough concern to steal his attention._

 _The scraping sound that he dreaded now resounded from the floor—the man's chair being scooted back. Aaron held his breath, praying to be delivered from his very worst fear._

—ooo—-

 **TO BE CONTINUED...**

 **Please let me know what you think and stay with me. I promise only a few chapters max.**


	2. Chapter 2 -- Love

_**A/N: Be warned, this becomes a very intense chapter. This is definitely the most unpleasant part of the story, but I promise it doesn't end here.**_

—ooo—-

Standing in the lobby with his back to the gym, Aaron felt safer than if he went into the next room. He could hear the youthful voices barely topping the loud ABBA music, but he couldn't quite grasp the celebratory mood next door.

He stared around the lobby, looking for details he'd never noticed before. A list of etiquette guidelines behind the front desk caught his eye. "No Loitering" was #3. He checked his watch. If Haley didn't show up in another five minutes, he would go home and forget the whole thing.

Right now, the only other person in the spacious lobby was the owl-faced receptionist who often stayed after hours. She would look down at her desk, shuffle papers, and then look across the room at him with a gaze that was equal parts judgemental and curious. She pursed her lips, wiped away excess lipstick, crumpled a sheet of paper. Sharpened a pencil, blew the shavings, glared at Aaron. In return, Aaron simply buried his hands in his pockets and tried not to stare back. He didn't want to have to explain anything, though the lady seemed about to interrogate him every time she looked up.

He wasn't even wearing a belt. The mere sight of the leather strap made his muscles tense and his hands shake. It upset him that he didn't yet have the resolve, or the courage, to hold a belt firmly in his hands and loop it around his waist. Having hid it under his bed, he was left to continually hitch up his pants with his thumbs in the pockets. If Haley noticed, he would say he just forgot a belt. That excuse would only be too believable coming from him. Right now, he felt the receptionist's owly glare criticizing his fashion choices. _She knows the truth,_ he thought. _She's mocking me_.

About ready to give it all up, Aaron crossed his arms and walked away from the wall. At his movement, the elderly receptionist sat straight up. "If you're afraid to go inside, young man, I'll gladly be your partner."

Aaron stopped and stared, unsure if he'd heard correctly.

Dispelling the tension, the receptionist gave a short, sharp laugh. "I'm kidding, of course. Go make yourself useful and stop loitering."

Aaron nodded, wishing he hadn't come at all. Next she would make fun of the fact that he had tucked a striped collared shirt into beltless jeans. He might as well be home again, unable to do anything right and as unpresentable as ever. Hoping to escape another remark, he reached the front doors and pushed them outward. He almost felt more relieved than disappointed—though he regretted missing an opportunity to hang out with Haley, he had managed to spare her from any potential danger.

But then the mixed emotions turned back on him. The minute he stepped outside, he saw the girl of his dreams rushing up the wide front steps to the school. She held a handful of lacy blue skirt in one hand to keep from tripping, and Aaron could see the tips of her shiny silken shoes. The dress had very short sleeves, and her slender arms looked chilly in the evening air. Her hair had been done up in braids and loops. A few curled locks dangled on either side of her gently made-up face.

At the top of the steps, Aaron paused to watch her approach. Haley smiled as she neared and gave a quick wave with her free hand. She was stunning, as usual, even in her rushed state. Aaron shrunk back a little in her presence.

"I'm so glad you waited for me!" Haley's voice smiled with her. "Sorry I'm late. I had to close the store for my dad."

Aaron reached out to catch her hand as she neared the top steps. "No problem at all," he said quietly. "I'm glad to see you."

And he was glad, but he was scared too. This girl's beautiful hand rested in his, he felt his grip tighten, and he was scared. Scared for her.

Haley faced him. "I'm sorry I made you wait. Did you miss a lot of the fun?"

"It doesn't matter."

Her eyebrow arched. "Are you alright?"

"Sure." Aaron dropped his gaze and took the bunch of flowers from his jacket pocket. He held them out, suddenly not caring if she took them or not.

Haley took them. Of course she did. She didn't know what she was getting into.

"Do you want to go inside?" Aaron asked, hoping she didn't.

She nodded, admiring the flowers. Didn't she see how wilted they had become?

Aaron hitched up his pants. The thought of the belt he could have worn sent shocks of pain through his shoulders, arms, legs, chest. He hoped Haley didn't see him wince, and he hurriedly led her inside. Turning away, he could better hide the tears that had sprung unwelcomed to his eyes. She would know something was wrong, but he didn't want her to know what.

As they passed the receptionist in the lobby, she eyed them from one side of the room to the other. "You're one lucky girl," she called out to Haley, and seemed to be covering up a laugh.

Haley just smiled and nodded. Aaron chose to ignore the thinly veiled sarcasm.

They entered the gym together and paused to take in the celebration. Classmates and peers danced, talked, snacked, drank, laughed, argued, sang, or merely mingled in every section of the redecorated room. The basketball hoops had been folded up on the opposite walls, chairs had been stacked in uneven towers against the walls with only a few arranged to seat whoever wasn't dancing. Streamers and school colors screamed around the room. The speakers in the ceiling boomed out the hits, just now finishing the chorus to "Take a Chance on Me."

Aaron felt small and out of place. A boy and girl, both dressed good enough to attend a wedding or a coronation, walked up to the new arrivals and offered exuberant greetings.

"Good to see you, Haley! Who's your friend?"

Haley smiled and gestured an introduction. "Bob Burke. Juliet Monroe. This is my friend Aaron Hotchner."

"How do you do?" Bob shook Aaron's hand. Aaron glanced over the pair and felt terribly uneasy about them.

"Try the deviled eggs," Juliet shouted over the noise. "I brought them."

"We will," said Haley. The pair moved on, and Haley tugged at Aaron's hand. "Come on, don't be shy."

Haley's sister Jessica was hanging out by the snack table. Though not a senior, she had clearly gotten Haley to pull some strings and seemed to be having a great time talking to a group of guys two years older than her. She tossed Aaron and Haley a little wave before returning to her conversation.

Haley only took a couple bites of anything. She had her eyes on the crowded dance floor. "That does look like fun."

Aaron nodded. He was thinking about a story his mother used to tell about how she met the man who made Aaron's life miserable. She had met him at a dance, one just like this but with much more alcohol, and she described his utter charm and talent. Once they got to dancing, she claimed, they didn't sit down all night. What a charmer he was. What a sickly sweet charmer.

Haley nodded to the music as she watched. Aaron knew he should engage her, but he started feeling lightheaded and frightfully nervous. Finally he leaned close and graciously asked with a sweep of his arm, "Would you like to sit with me?"

Haley's eyebrows went up. She had obviously expected another word— _dance_ , most likely. Aaron had tried to make sitting sound just as appealing. Though a little reluctant at first, Haley walked with him to the row of chairs in the back, where they sat side-by-side and watched the throbbing mass of dancing teenagers. Aaron thought she looked a little uneasy. Maybe she should be. He thought they would be safer sitting quietly to the side, but the fear that had come upon him earlier that day only continued to increase. He started gripping the sides of his folding chair and trying desperately to keep from shaking.

—ooo—-

 _The man had started yelling at Mother now. First she was taking too long cleaning up the flower pots, then she was making too much of a mess. Aaron tried not to move at the table. He had become hunched with pain from the beating and fear for what might come next._

 _Mother wouldn't even look at the man. She took a cloth to wipe some dirt off the counter, but he suddenly seized her wrist._

" _Can't you do anything right? Aren't you good for anything around here?"_

 _Aaron listened to the words that had been thrown in his own face many times before. They hurt just as much being aimed at his mother. Mother wasn't perfect. In fact, she rarely paid attention to Aaron and sometimes hurt him too. He tried to believe she wasn't as cruel-hearted as the man, and he was sure it was nothing more than stress that caused her to be distant. Mother was the only woman in Aaron's life for well over a decade—until he met Haley. He knew there was good in her. There had to be. But he didn't know any other women to compare her to._

 _The man threatened to skew Aaron's perception of women. If he was right that Mother was useless, maybe that was saying something about women in general. Aaron didn't know. He was just a bruised, aching, scared kid._

 _The man pulled Mother by the arm until she faced him. "Look at you. You're no different than the women in my magazines, except you talk too much. Look at this worthless creature, Aaron. This is why you're so messed up. This is why you're so homely and why you can't do anything right."_

 _Aaron didn't know what the man meant about magazines, but he understood that the man's view of Mother was the same as his view of all women. Aaron was more concerned with wanting the man to let go of her arm._

 _The man pulled Mother close to the table. "She's the one to blame," he said. "Do you hate her, Aaron?"_

 _Aaron stared at the two adults, one glaring, the other looking like a deer about to be shot. Slowly, he shook his head. "I love her," he said._

 _That earned him a slap so hard it knocked him from the chair to the floor. Aaron hit his temple on the tile and decided to lay there for a second before trying to get back up. He couldn't go through another beating, no matter how much he wished the man would focus on him instead of Mother._

" _You don't know what love is," said the man. "Do you love having stale sandwiches packed for your lunches? Do you love never getting your clothes washed on time? Do you love being ignored when you come home? Your mother doesn't love you. Why should you love her?"_

 _Aaron said nothing but brought his trembling hands over his head._

" _She doesn't care about you! She wants to see you suffer and fall. Why don't you take out your frustration on her, Aaron, or what kind of a man are you?"_

 _Aaron didn't know what the man meant. He peered up through his fingers, trying to hide his face but at the same time trying to read the man's stony expression. Something like sardonic amusement infused the man's features. He released Mother's arm and reached down for Aaron's collar. He tugged Aaron to his feet and forced him to face his mother._

 _Mother towered only about a foot over her son's head. Her hair was tangled and her blue sweater was not straight. He always thought she was pretty, but in such a sad way. She didn't say anything to him, but she stared steadily down into his eyes with a completely blank expression._

" _Are you angry, Aaron?" the man demanded._

" _No, sir."_

 _A hand clamped over the back of his neck and gave him a small, firm shake. "I know you are," the man murmured into his ear. "Your mother is the cause of all your trouble. Why doesn't she ever protect you, huh? She hates you!"_

 _He may have been right. Aaron wasn't sure. He couldn't see anything in Mother's eyes._

" _Well, show her how you feel!"_

 _Suddenly Aaron knew what was expected of him. He stepped back, horrified._

 _The hand returned to his neck. "Hit her, Aaron. It's the only way to handle your lady."_

" _I can't," muttered Aaron._

" _You will, or I'll tear apart all your joints."_

" _No." Aaron's voice was small and weak. "Don't make me."_

" _She hates you!" hollered the man. "She wants you to suffer." He faced Mother. "Tell him the truth. You hate him, don't you?"_

" _Just do it, Aaron," whispered Mother._

" _No, Mom!" Aaron tried to move away. The hand held him in place._

" _I'll break your neck!" said the man._

" _It's okay, Aaron." Mother's voice was very faint. "Just play his game."_

 _The man's other hand came over Aaron's neck, poised to snap it. "Don't think I wouldn't do it. Would you really die to see her go unharmed?"_

 _Mother closed her eyes as she took a deep, shaking breath. "He's right, Aaron," she said in a tone quite unlike her own. "I hate you."_

 _Aaron blinked. "What?"_

" _I HATE YOU, AARON! How does that make you feel?"_

 _Aaron didn't think. He felt betrayed and endangered. He swung out and slapped his mother across the face, scarcely aware of what he was doing. It was as if someone else's hand swept out in front of him. Mother's head snapped back, and he heard the man laugh. In one brief, delirious second, his anger was replaced with a heady rush. He had copied what he had seen countless times, and the release of tension amazed him._

 _Then overwhelming guilt washed over him._

 _Aaron flung his hands to his face. "I'm so sorry! Mom, forgive me!" He rushed forward and reached for Mother's face, touched her, pulled her close. "Mom, I'm sorry. Mom!"_

 _He was again pulled by his collar, this time yanked backwards. The man punched him across the face, bringing out a rivulet of blood from the corner of his eye. Aaron fell backwards into the table._

" _You're a loveless coward, Aaron!" said the man. "I'll have to finish the job for you."_

 _The man advanced toward Mother and started striking her left and right. Aaron managed to get up again, and for a moment he watched in a silent stupor._

" _You see, boy," said the man. "It's important to show these women who is boss." He hit Mother several more times, and Aaron finally cried out in protest._

" _Shut up!" said the man. "You're both my property, don't you see? You will both do as I say. This is how the man of the house must take charge."_

 _He went on beating Mother, and she couldn't get away. Aaron could hardly move with his own injuries still aching. He gathered his nerve and caught his breath. Not wiping the blood from his mouth, he held out a hand and choked, "Stop it! Don't hurt my mom!"_

 _A quick foot in his stomach felled him to all fours. Curling over his knees, Aaron looked up to see the assault on his mother continue. "Please, stop."_

 _The man wouldn't listen._

 _Aaron tried to get up, but it hurt too much. He couldn't move. Soon his pleas died away and he remained kneeling there, completely ineffective. His arms were folded in a tight shield over his abdomen, and he bent over them, rocking a little. Watching his mother suffer, Aaron felt tears stream down his bruised face, mingling with the blood that continued to drip. Aaron began to cry, first softly, then in heaving sobs. He put his hands to his face and wept harder with each falling tear, seemingly unnoticed, unbidden, uncomforted. Realizing he could not protect his mother was the most painful blow of all._

 _Suddenly the sounds of the beating stopped, and the man's hand landed once again on Aaron's shoulder._

" _Don't cry for that woman, you snivelling brat. Someday, you'll learn that this is the only way to show your love toward your lady."_

 _Aaron looked up, gaze blurred with blood and tears. Mother looked back at him through swollen eyes, but she did not come to comfort him. Without a word, she got up, straightened her sweater, and turned to leave the room._

" _Mom, I love you," Aaron muttered uselessly._

 _The man snickered. "I love her too."_

—ooo—-

Haley looked untouchable. Everything about her was in place and beautiful. As Aaron stole glances at her profile, he saw the barely contained restlessness in her lovely eyes. She wanted to get up and dance, she wanted to have a good time with her friends. But she just sat there, quiet and patient, hands folded in her lap.

Aaron knew he should let her go and join her classmates, but somehow he'd felt he could protect her by keeping her at his side. Now he knew that was a lie. He was a danger to her. He loved her more than he had ever loved anyone before, but now he realized that meant she would get hurt. He didn't want to hurt her, but the more he thought about it, the more clearly he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself. Something would happen, someday, some little thing, and he would lose the most precious love in his life.

How could he unlearn what he'd been taught?


	3. Chapter 3 -- Eyes

_**Okay, this is still pretty intense. Very real, mature thematic material ahead. I may have dived too deep into Mr. Hotchner's head and gotten caught up in real psychological complexities. Dunno... Tell me what you think! Thanks. Oh, and this**_ **will** _**wrap up soon. -LTLS**_

—ooo—-

 _After a stressful workday, all Aaron Hotchner wanted to do was relax. He undid his tie and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair. Moving into the living room, he loosened his collar and his sleeve cuffs. His coworkers never gave him a minute's peace, and his boss seemed to think he could handle all the most difficult assignments. The work made Aaron feel like everybody was dropping dead around him._

 _He had barely sunk into the couch when he started looking around for the nearest bottle. There stood a bourbon on the lamp table. Had he left it there? Didn't matter. Aaron downed the liquid in a few seconds._

 _He put his feet up on the coffee table and leaned back. Nobody had better interrupt him now. Now all he needed was two or three non-thinking hours in front of the TV with nobody to get in his way._

 _Where was the remote?_

 _A small child appeared at the end of the hallway. "Daddy? You're home!"_

 _Aaron sighed. Not now. "Go play upstairs," he said. "I'm busy."_

" _Busy with what?"_

" _I'm just busy, can't you see that? Try not to interrupt."_

 _The child headed for the stairs, then stopped and looked back. "I love you, Daddy."_

 _Aaron said nothing. He needed another drink to numb the brewing frustration._

 _Only minutes later, Haley walked in. Her blond hair was trimmed and sculpted. She looked in good shape in her purple blouse and denim shorts. A wedding band shone on her finger._

" _Honey, how was your day?"_

 _Aaron didn't want to talk about it, so he growled an unintelligible response._

 _In an act of boldness, Haley sat down beside him. "Tell me about it," she said gently._

 _Aaron cast her a glare. "Why can't everybody just leave me alone?"_

" _You've had a bad day. We can talk about it, honey. It'll be okay."_

 _Aaron sat up straight and looked at her furiously. "What do you know? You don't have an inkling about what I go through! Stop trying to be my mom!"_

" _Aaron, calm down." Haley looked dead-serious now. Over her shoulder, Aaron could see his little boy lingering on the stairs, watching them._

" _Leave me alone!" demanded Aaron._

" _I'm only here to help," insisted Haley._

" _I don't need your help!"_

" _Don't deceive yourself. Aaron, listen to me—!"_

 _Aaron didn't have the patience. He grabbed her by the shirt and raised his fist. The little boy continued to stare._

—ooo—-

"Aaron. Aaron!"

The voice was followed by a hand shaking his shoulder. Aaron jumped and snapped out of his thoughts. An entire what-if vision of his future evaporated as quickly as it had been created in his mind only minutes ago. Haley sat beside him, still a teenager. There was no toddler on the loose. He was only a highschooler, and he had never had a hard drink in his life. Relief hit almost instantly.

"What?" he said stupidly.

Haley smiled, never offended. "Don't you want to dance?"

Aaron swallowed. "I might hurt you."

Haley made a face. "How?"

Aaron shrugged as a thousand possibilities swam through his head. "What if I drop you? Or step on your foot?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Come on. I'll show you what to do!"

Unable to say no now that she was dragging him by the hand, Aaron followed Haley across the glossy floorboards. Journey crooned "Open Arms" now, and Aaron witnessed many other kids making laughable attempts at waltzing. A few were pseudo-swing dancing. Aaron didn't know what to do.

Haley showed him, just as she said. She guided his hand to her waist and placed her hand on his shoulder. The fingers of their other hands interlocked. "Mirror me," she said.

Aaron tried. He focused intently on each step that she made and tried to follow her lead. His gaze kept dropping to her feet, watching them effortlessly glide. It was easier than looking at her eyes.

For a minute, he really enjoyed the moment. This is what he came for, to be close to Haley and to celebrate the end of high school. He dared to smile a little, and his dance steps became more confident. Haley's smile was huge. She hummed to the music and swayed with every step. And for that minute, Aaron thought he might actually make it through the evening.

He felt the waist of his pants slipping a little again. Self-consciously, he let go of Haley's side to hook a thumb through his belt loop. "Shoulda worn a belt," he said with an apologetic smile.

Haley looked about to ask why he didn't, but she closed her mouth before the words could get out. Aaron knew why she didn't ask. It was because she knew his personal secrets. She knew he never expected hugs when he came home or kisses when he left. She knew his family wouldn't be writing any bestseller parenting books. And she knew it was nothing out of the ordinary for him to be subdued in a generically friendly kitchen and beaten until his nerves stopped responding and his clothes started shredding. She knew what his home life was like and how a thick belt had stolen so many hours of his childhood.

What his home life _was_ like, not anymore, he reminded himself. She knew what he had _left behind_. That chapter of his life had burned its last candle, and he didn't have to look back anymore. But maybe Haley still did. Maybe, when she looked at him, she was really thinking about all the degrading experiences he had lived through.

Aaron reached a hand around to the small of his back where he thought he felt the stinging snap of the belt. Conscious of Haley's gaze, he quickly turned the action into a casual straightening of his jacket. He didn't know what Haley was thinking, but clearly _he_ was the one with too much fixation on things of the past. He wasn't being pinned over a table or having to brace himself against a shelf. He didn't need to hunch over so much. He didn't need to frown. He absolutely had to stop living and breathing and thinking in the past.

Aaron focused on the sights, sounds, and smells of the present. The sweet but corny music. The softness of Haley's hand. Every precise step. For a moment he could all but forget his memories. Only one thing lingered—a pair of eyes he used to see all the time. The pain was over, but those eyes watched him from afar. Mother's eyes. She never raised a hand in his defense, never came to his aid afterward, never told him to hang on. She did nothing but watch. Once she even held him down. Aaron survived by clinging to the hope that she really did love him, but when he looked back, when he remembered her hollow eyes, he knew the man was right. Mother hated him.

Aaron spent many nights in barely concealed anger. It wasn't the man he hated; it was Mother. The angrier he felt, the more he wanted to hurt her. She had to know what he felt, what she did nothing to prevent. He wanted to see her wince and cower in pain and fear.

His hand suddenly tightened on Haley's. Quickly, he let go and hung his head.

Haley leaned close so she could speak softly through the noise. "Aaron, what's the matter?"

He didn't look up at her eyes. Her eyes—they were just like Mother's.

"Aaron."

"I'm scared," he said timidly.

Haley's brow wrinkled. "Why? What are you afraid of?"

Aaron shook his head, blinking back tears.

Haley leaned even closer, bending her neck to try and meet his eye. "What?"

Aaron wiped his nose with his fingers. Stared at his shoes. Shook his head.

"Tell me, Aaron."

Aaron bit his lip until he tasted blood. If he told her, she might leave him. If she left him, she might be safer. He inhaled deeply.

"I don't want to hurt you."

Haley's gaze softened with emotion. "You won't. It's okay, Aaron. I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

Haley took his hand again and led him back to the stacked chairs. "Why? What do you think you're gonna do?"

He looked into her eyes now, not bothering to wipe the tears that screened his sight. He couldn't quite see her, but in his mind's eye he could see a dreadful morning not long after the man encouraged him to hit his own mother. The man slouched on the sofa with a stack of magazines that he flipped carelessly through. His greasy thumbs would peel pages apart at a regular pace, allowing just enough time for his eyes to scan each page quickly. Sometimes he would pause and stare at a particular page longer. Then he continued to the end and finally tossed the magazine on its face at his feet. His claw reached for the next one.

 _Timidly Aaron approached, unconsciously crossing his arms over his chest as he neared. The paper in his hand crinkled against his arm. "Excuse me," he said in a tiny voice._

 _The man slowly turned another page, sliding it between his fingertips before letting it fall in place. Behind his big hand, Aaron could make out a photo of a scantily clad woman on the front cover._

 _Aaron held out the trembling, wrinkled paper. "I need you to sign my lab permission form."_

 _The man snorted. "Why should I do that?"_

 _Aaron looked down. "I need your signature to do the lab portion of this class. Or Mom's. Where is she?"_

 _The man wasn't glaring, but he wasn't grinning either. His expression was morphed between disgust and amusement._

" _Your mom..." he sneered._

 _Aaron stepped back. "I'll go find her."_

" _No, you stay right where you are."_

 _The man held out his magazine. "Hold this for me."_

 _When Aaron took it, the man took his permission form. Now Aaron could clearly see the thinly smiling, oddly posed woman on the cover. He wondered why she didn't feel ashamed having such an immodest photo of herself posted on this front cover._

 _His next thought was that she looked kind of pretty._

 _The man let out a long breath. "I don't think it's very smart putting you into a lab like this. Everybody else should sign a waiver just to be in the same room with you."_

 _Aaron looked up._

 _The man laughed meanly at his expression. "Give me that pen."_

 _While the man scribbled on the blank line, Aaron felt relieved that the paper hadn't been ripped up and thrown in his face. He reached out to take it back when the man finished._

 _The man held out his hand. "Magazine."_

 _Aaron gladly surrendered the magazine and then received his paper. The man wore an evil smile._

" _Do you think she's pretty?" he asked, stroking the cover photo._

 _Aaron shrugged. He was ready to leave the room now and didn't want to discuss the man's carnal interests._

" _How many women have you ever met, Aaron?"_

" _Just Mom."_

 _The man spat over the armrest in disgust. "Greenhorn. She's just like this picture right here. Old hat. I'm tired of this one." With that, he ripped the magazine into long, jagged shreds. The woman's gentle face tore in two and fell on top of the other scraps._

 _Then he calmly reached for another magazine, as calmly as if he'd simply wiped his buttery fingers with a napkin. "I've been with so many women I've lost count," he muttered as he turned pages. "You will too someday." He gave a low whistle. "None of them ever stay as good as this."_

 _To illustrate, he turned the magazine to show Aaron a centerfold. Aaron didn't know why, but in that second, he closed his eyes. Whatever the man was trying to tell him, he didn't want to see or hear anymore._

 _He turned away, hoping to move on to his homework. He felt a roll of paper swat his leg and heard a mocking expletive, but he ignored the man behind him. He walked straight to the stairs and bolted up to his room._

 _Even while he turned his focus to his books, his mind kept going back to the shredded magazine on the floor. But in his mind, he saw Mom's face instead of the model's. Mom. Expendable. Forgettable._

 _Aaron's pencil stopped moving. He looked up to the partially covered four-panelled window and saw the trembling, leafless branches outside. His hand dropped to his desk and the pencil rolled away from his fingers. He thought about all the girls he had seen at school, all the girls who ignored him even while he wanted to get to know them. If he ever got lucky enough to meet one, how soon until he lost interest and picked another?_

Aaron looked up with tears in his eyes. Haley gazed at him with an intently concerned face. "What if...?" said Aaron softly.

Haley cocked her head, her whole face a question.

He tried again. "What if something goes wrong?"

She clearly didn't understand.

"What if—" Aaron wiped his eyes— "I lose you?"

Haley's lips curved into a confused smile. "Aaron. We're in the school gym. Nobody's going to get lost."

Aaron sniffed and took a deep breath. "I know," he whispered.

He looked around the room, again trying not to meet Haley's eye. For perhaps the first time, he noticed all the other girls in the vast room. There was a beautiful brunette standing beside the snack table with a glass of Coke daintily held aloft in one hand. A slender redhead waltzed by with a jock. Her laughter sounded like candy. A cute Asian girl sat nearby with a gaggle of friends, talking animatedly and making them all chortle. Aaron glanced at every girl in view before facing Haley again.

For a second, he thought back to a lonely night of rage in his room. That day, he had seen Mother run upstairs the second she saw the man knock Aaron to the floor. Aaron kept a photo of his mother in one of his drawers. That night, he took it out and stared at her selfish, uncaring face. Caught up in pain and anger, Aaron had ripped the photo, tearing it right down her face and then shredding it to confetti. As he gazed at the scrambled scraps on the floor, he pondered what the man had said, and he wondered if he really could somehow replace his mother with a better woman. The idea nagged in his mind for years.

"What am I thinking?" he said quietly. "I don't know anything about relationships or about love. I try to act normal, but I'll never think like anybody else. I don't know how to interact, how to treat women, or how to keep you safe. The only thing I know how to do is to hurt."

Haley's expression sobered as if a whole new light had dawned on her. She gave Aaron a calculating look, and he didn't like it.

"So now that you understand," continued Aaron, "I really think I should go home now. I'm not fooling anybody."

Haley seemed at a loss for words. Then she caught his arm. "Aaron, wait. That's not true. We can make it work. We love each other, right?"

"I thought we did, but what happens if I get angry? What if I have a kid and don't know how to handle him? It's too risky. We can't be in love."

"You're being ridiculous."

"I always am, aren't I?"

"Don't walk away, please."

"I want to protect you."

"Aaron!"

"I'm sorry."

Haley followed him to the door at the back. He turned to her, frantic.

"Please let me be."

She remained standing in the doorway as he walked on down the hallway. He glanced back once he reached the corner and saw her watching him still. More than anything, he wanted to run back to her and embrace her and never let go. But he couldn't trust himself. He was too unstable.

"Goodbye, Haley Brooks," he whispered.

The second he turned the corner, he heard a flurry of footsteps. Haley had given chase.


	4. Chapter 4 -- Spotlight

**So sorry for the long delay! Thanks for waiting. I hope this isn't too confusing. Pleeeeeeease review! Two more SHORT chapters planned. (Will I ever be done with poor Aaron?)**

—-

Aaron breathed heavily as he ran. The corridor never seemed to end, but every step led him into deeper shadows. He dove around another corner and skidded past a cart of books that had been left outside a closed classroom door. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder but didn't stop running full speed into the increasing darkness.

" _You can't run forever, Aaron!"_

Mother's voice echoed in his head. Pounded into his thoughts. Chased him.

Each floor tile slapped the soles of his sneakers harder than the last. His steps had grown heavy and he was panting, but he did not slow. He couldn't afford to. Taking a deep breath and clutching the stitch in his side, he clambered down the flight of stairs leading into the spacious, silent, empty cafeteria. Stretched across one wall was a garish mural of the school mascot superimposed over the city. The opposite wall gave a view of the smoldering sunset through large-plated windows. Aaron felt exposed by the wall of clear glass, so he slipped behind a pillar to catch his breath. He wanted to stop and rest. He looked back up the stairs to see if he'd gotten away. No such luck—here came the girl. Calling to him, running, one hand on the railing.

Aaron turned away and ran between rows of shiny red tables. He wouldn't stop again.

" _You think you can escape? Stop running, Aaron!" Mother leaned out the open window of the car she was driving slowly past the train yard. A train moved sluggishly by just parallel to the road. Between the train and the car, his face shining with sweat beneath the mid-afternoon sun, Aaron ran as hard as he could, kicking up coal dust with each footfall. He had left the school and his books far behind and refused to slow down, even though his flight was in vain. Kids laughed when he took off running at the sight of his mother's car, but he didn't care. He had to try._

Aaron turned down another hallway and ran from the cafeteria. The brick walls on either side tapered off into a tighter space, and he slowed to gain his bearings. A square sign to the left pointed upward: "Stairs." The corner at the right had been nearly blocked off with stacked chairs and folded desks. Aaron went right, climbing over and between furniture, careful not to knock anything over. He was good at running and hiding, but the activity always frightened him. He knew that no matter how fast and how skillfully he fled, he would always be caught.

His arm jerked backward. Aaron started, afraid he'd been caught, and at the same time a little angry. He looked back and saw that his jacket sleeve had snagged between chair legs and sharp corners of desks. Aaron tried to pull away and felt the fabric tear. His eyes went wide in the semi-darkness, scanning the sleeve where it had been caught, wondering if he could pull it free. He heard Haley's footsteps echo around the corner and heard her voice call out:

"I'm not afraid, Aaron! You shouldn't be either."

But he was. He was terrified. He had to keep running.

" _You_ are _going home," Mother growled. "I came to pick you up, and that's what I'm going to do."_

 _Aaron shook his head, still pushing forward though steam and dust from the train clouded the air he breathed. "No. Please, no! Not today."_

" _Aaron..."_

 _He kept running. His steps had grown tired and laborious. His lungs strained. But he kept running._

 _Mother reached out the window and grabbed his arm. "That's enough. Get inside."_

" _No!" He tried to pull away. She yanked him back against the door._

" _You can't choose your fate, Aaron."_

As Haley's shadow poured across the bricks, Aaron slipped out of his jacket. He scrambled over the rest of the chairs that blocked the narrow corridor and continued running. He felt cooler now without the jacket, but he also felt more visible. The dark jacket had turned him into a shadow. Now his white, striped shirt with burn marks on the sleeve pointed him out clearly in the darkness.

Aaron loosened his red tie a little as he stumbled around another bend and pushed through a heavy door. A series of long, vertical ropes stretched from knots on the floor all the way up to the high ceiling in the darkness above. The wooden floorboards creaked as Aaron moved, and he saw many wood boxes stacked against the wall. More ominous shapes stood scattered in the long, narrow space with white shrouds draped over them. Lighting equipment hung from a beam far above. Even in the near darkness, Aaron could see the deeply scarlet waves of a curtain making up one of the lengthy walls.

He was backstage. This was the very theater where he first met Haley and first dared to dream that love was possible. Now she had chased him back here, and he felt more trapped than ever before. He froze, staring around, not sure where to go next. He heard to door ease open.

" _Why did you run?"_

 _Aaron cried pitifully in the backseat. "I don't want to go home."_

" _Do you have any idea what that man will do to you if you're home late?"_

 _Aaron nodded, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, smearing tears and soot. "Don't take me home," he pleaded._

 _Mother sighed. "There is no escape. You should know that by now."_

There is no escape.

The words reverberated around Aaron's skull. Mentally and physically exhausted, he pushed through the curtain and collapsed on the edge of the stage. A few sparse lights yellowed his hands and knees as he stared down at them. He had tried to escape. He should have known better.

His face sank into his hands.

He heard the inevitable ruffling of the curtain behind him. Tender footsteps neared his side. Haley made his heart hurt so much now. He wanted to be with her almost as much as he wanted to hide her away in a safe place far away from him.

"Aaron."

"Go away."

"Please talk to me."

He continued hiding his face, ashamed and scared.

He heard her sitting down, but not as closely as he'd expected. He peered over his fingers and saw her seated on the edge of the stage almost ten feet to his left.

"Alright," sighed Haley. "I'll wait until you're ready."

And wait she did. Her hands lay patiently folded in her lap, her feet dangled, her eyes gazed straight ahead over the countless seats in the auditorium. Aaron, hunched over and face half-hidden, sat just as quietly on his side of the stage. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

Nearly five minutes passed in uneasy silence. Then Haley sighed again. "I remember the first time I walked into the spotlight," she said, almost dreamily, as if reminiscing with a close relative. "Second grade, Swan Lake. I had been practicing at home for months, trying to learn every move before I got accepted and began rehearsing for real. I had been training with a local dance instructor for awhile, but I didn't realize until I watched the original ballet on video that everything I had been taught was completely wrong. I had rehearsals coming up soon. But I knew all the wrong steps."

Aaron glanced over at her, confused by her random story. She wasn't looking at him; instead she watched the auditorium as if it were filling up with people as she spoke.

"I spent a couple weeks in panic, studying the video frame by frame and relearning every step. I knew each musical cue and each incorrect move that went with it, so I had to focus on getting the right moves in my head. It was a very stressful experience."

Aaron lowered his hands from his face and watched her. He still didn't understand, but her tone had changed and her expression intensified. For some reason, this story was very important to her, and apparently very important for her to share.

"I went onstage for the first time," Haley continued, "with two entirely different dances in mind. I had been taught the wrong dance, and I hadn't had enough time to properly practice the right one. I was terrified. I thought I would misstep and fail so badly, I would ruin the entire production if I were selected. I almost didn't get ready. I begged my mom to take me home."

Aaron blinked, picturing a seven-year-old Haley in a ballet dress, distraught, pleading to be taken away from a dilemma she could not overcome. "Did you go home?" he asked tentatively.

"My mom wouldn't take me home. Instead, she said to me, 'Haley, you know the wrong way to do this, and you know the right way. It's your _choice_ which one you do.' I was still terrified. But I went out there... and I danced."

Aaron glanced back at the stage where he sat and imagined Haley twirling and leaping on her toes. He could see her shadow spinning artfully with her every move. He looked back at her. "So you did it perfectly?"

Finally Haley met his eye. "No," she said shortly. "I made a lot of mistakes. I knew the right steps to take, but I didn't focus enough, and I tripped things up a bit. I felt terrible, and I thought I would never dance again."

Aaron frowned.

"But I wasn't willing to give up. I came back, and I kept dancing. I got it right. I didn't make the ballet, but with more practice, I got into next year's play. I still make mistakes, but each time I walk into the spotlight, I realize the choices I have to make, and I focus on the right ones."

Aaron didn't realize he was staring at her until he blinked several seconds later. Haley looked away again and gazed into the distance. Aaron wondered if, in her eyes, the auditorium was finally full now.

"Why are you so afraid, Aaron?" Haley asked firmly. Her voice was not the gentle, dove-like warble he was used to. She sounded assertive and convicting.

"I never want to hurt you."

"Then you never will."

"How do you know?"

"Aaron, you _have_ a choice."

Her eyes met his again, just briefly, and with that, she slid herself off the edge of the stage. She walked calmly through the empty orchestral pit, holding a handful of her skirt to keep from tripping, and entered the narrow aisle that cut straight down the middle of the multitude of chairs. She glanced back over her shoulder and gave a small wave goodbye. Then she turned away and headed straight down the aisle.

Aaron watched her walk away. She didn't look back or slow down. She only continued to shrink and vanish in the shadows. She had left him with a choice, and now she would leave him in peace, just like he'd wanted. He continued watching. She had almost reached the double doors at the far end of the room.

Aaron looked back at the stage again. This was where he first shook Haley's hand and gazed into her smiling eyes over a year ago. This was where he became a pirate and risked exposing his deepest held secret just to be with her. And this was where he let her go, never to be seen again.

 _The car pulled to a stop in front of the decrepit house, and Mother turned to face her son. "What in the world would you do if you managed to run away?" she asked._

 _Aaron furrowed his brow. He stared out the window at the street, wishing he could plant himself far outside of his parents' reach. He wished he had never stopped running. But at the same time, he was stumped. He didn't know what he would do on his own._

" _There are people out there who would use you," said Mother. "Some might even kill you. Did you think about that?"_

 _Aaron didn't see how that would be any different than being at home._

" _Where would you live? On the streets? What would you eat? Rats and garbage and maybe grass? Would you really rather live as an animal than stay warm in my house?"_

" _I would get by," said Aaron. "I would find a way."_

" _You would starve and freeze. Nobody loves you out there."_

" _Nobody loves me here!"_

 _Mother reached back to slap him. He knew she would do that, and he didn't care. He looked out the window again, refusing to face forward._

 _Mother collected herself. "I love you, just as I loved my husband before he... he passed away. You would not last one day on your own. Running away won't solve your problems. Now come inside with me."_

 _Aaron knew what awaited inside: that man and his fists. He stayed put._

" _Aaron, don't make me drag you inside. This is your house, this is your family, and this is how things are, whether you like it or not. You can either mope about it and keep trying useless escapes, or you can buck up and deal with it." Mother opened her door. "Now are you coming?"_

 _Aaron bit his lip and reached for the door handle. He took a deep breath—_

...And with a forceful push-off, he sprang from the edge of the stage. He landed in the orchestral pit and bolted down the aisle. He knew he could never escape his fears and problems. He had to hold on, keep fighting. This was his chance to change things.

He remembered the energetic excitement that led him to play Pirate #4. He was charging across the deck, waving his sword, facing his enemies dead-on instead of sitting below deck cowering. He reached out a hand as he ran and caught the girl's hand before she opened the door. They faced each other.

"Wait," said Aaron, catching his breath.

Haley's eyebrows raised.

"I... I choose to love you."

Haley dared to smile a little. Then her smile grew into a rapturous laugh, and she threw her arms around him. Aaron hugged her back, unable to believe how close he had been to losing his best friend forever. She was not an object to him; she was not a picture in a magazine. She was a woman, and he loved her very much.


	5. Chapter 5 -- Blossom

"Aaron Hotchner?" The overweight woman in slacks and a green polo repeated his name, and then reached out a large hand for Aaron to shake. Her name tag identified her as Tess. "Come on in."

Aaron stepped over the threshold into the neatly furnished, quaintly decorated living room. Aaron scanned the matching set of paisley-patterned white armchairs and sofas in the middle of the room. A clawfoot oak coffee table laden with empty cups and a newspaper crouched between seats. In one wall, multi-paned windows let in a view of the quiet, gravelly street lined with brick houses and maple trees. The opposite wall contained ceiling-high shelves crammed with books of every kind. Looking at his surroundings, Aaron found the halfway house incredibly calming.

Tess flipped a page on her clipboard. "We don't get many visitors here, but I'll need you to sign in anyway. Visitation hours end by five."

Aaron nodded and signed his name on the blank sheet.

"Is she expecting you?" Tess asked, taking back the clipboard.

Aaron shook his head.

Tess exhaled through her nose and brushed lumpy curls of gray hair back over her shoulder. "Well, she might be pretty surprised to see you then. She's your mother, did you say?"

"That's right. How is she?"

Tess finally eased her thin lips into a friendly smile. "Sober for two months. She reads her late husband's army Bible every day, and I think she's really benefiting a lot."

Aaron quickly looked down to avoid the sympathetic gaze. "Glad to hear it."

"I'll go get her." Tess then turned and walked slowly through a wide doorway that turned left into a six-foot long hallway. Aaron followed her from a distance, wary about what he would find. The last time he saw Mother, she was an entirely different person than the woman he had spent most of his childhood with. After Dad died, she drowned in depression and let her new lover take control of their lives. It didn't take long after that for alcohol to become her chief sustenance. She changed so completely that Aaron held on, however irrationally, to the hope that a good, loving mother remained hidden in her somewhere, if only the drunken stranger would disappear. It might have been too much to hope for. Could someone really change after falling so far?

Tess stopped at the entrance to a humble kitchen dining room. Aaron gazed past her at the group of about a dozen women seated around a rectangular table, each with a plate of sauce-soaked pasta. The women stopped talking and looked up at the intruders.

Aaron looked back at them. He knew that this was a halfway house for recovering alcoholics, many of whom had hurt or neglected their own children. One woman appeared to be in her 60's with silver hair tied back in a long braid and lined face drooping with age. Another woman looked about Aaron's age. She had dyed black hair and a single shiny stud in her eyebrow. All the others could have been aged anywhere between the high school senior and the senior citizen. Some looked wasted away, some looked hopelessly sad, others wore make-up, and still others had a sunny, put-together countenance that marked great recovery.

Aaron wondered about their lives, their past addictions, and their children. He wondered how many of them had caused as much suffering as his own mother did. For a second, he felt tempted to be angry at the whole group. But then he remembered why he came, and he gazed back at the women with a look of respect. He didn't know their stories; he would not judge them.

And there in the third seat on the right sat his own mother. She wore her hair in a ponytail and looked very relaxed in her floral sundress and maroon cardigan. Her face looked smoother than before, her eyes brighter, softer.

She laid down her fork and put a hand to her mouth. She didn't seem able to comprehend the sight of her son in the hallway. Her eyes darkened a shade.

"Sorry to interrupt, ladies," said Tess. "Mrs. Hotchner, you have a visitor."

Aaron stepped forward, almost beside Tess. He still hung back a little, cautious, waiting. He didn't know how his mother would react.

Her features tightened again. She set her balled-up napkin beside her plate and quickly rose to her feet. She looked hard at Aaron, as if wondering why he came for her, then turned away and rushed to the screen door in the back of the room. Before anyone could say a word, she had escaped into the garden outside.

Tess turned to Aaron. "Maybe it would be best if you came back another time..."

"No, ma'am. I can handle this." Aaron walked through the kitchen, past the slightly confused women, and reached the door at the end. He then ventured out into the overgrown yard surrounded by a waist-high picket fence.

Shrubbery and chaotic flowerbeds threatened to block Aaron's path from every side. He looked past the tall weeds and blossoms and saw his mother seated alone on a chipped white bench. She looked down at her knees and did not move.

It was like wading through a knee-high river. Aaron pushed through the thick foliage and searched for any clearing where he could step. It was a precise but slow-moving journey.

Aaron had almost reached the bench. Mother refused to look up at him. Abruptly, he stopped and stooped to pluck a rosy blossom from its stalk. He then continued his walk quietly until he was near enough to the bench to sit down.

He didn't sit, not yet. Instead, he held out the flower to his mother. He remembered how Mother always used to love flowers. She had spent years trying in vain to keep small bunches blooming, only to see them wither and flake much too soon. Aaron had so many memories of wilted petals in the windowsill, overturned flowerpots in the sink, clumps of dirt on the floor. Like so many other things in his mother's life, cultivating flowers never seemed to work. But she loved them anyway.

Slowly, tentatively, Mother extended her fingers. Barely raising her eyes, she let her fingertips brush the flower offered by her son. She did not take it. Her hand dropped back into her lap.

Aaron cupped both hands around the flower to protect it. Then he sat down beside his mother.

She would not look at him.

Just last night, Aaron had been enjoying the school dance with his dear friend Haley. He bowed to her as she gave him a curtsy, and she finally taught him to waltz. They started slowly, allowing Aaron to warm up to each move. He practiced holding her hand and wanted to be sure she was comfortable with his hold. They danced for a long time on an otherwise empty stage with very little lighting. All the while, Aaron kept thinking about the other woman in his life, the one he could not walk away from forever—his mother. He told Haley he had unfinished business and spent the next morning finding the correct halfway house.

Now, sitting closer to his mother than he had in months, Aaron pondered if he could still go through with what he came to do. Memories were butting in harshly every time he looked at her now-gentle face. He couldn't forget how that face looked from the awkward perspective of the floor. She often gazed down at him as he lay there taking the daily flurry of blows, and he gazed right back at the empty, bloodshot eyes. He craved her comfort, but she only hurt him more.

But now, her eyes were different. They were the same soft, expressive eyes he used to know before his father died. They were emotional and strangely vulnerable.

Her whole face had changed. New creases had lined her brow and the corners of her mouth. Several strands of gray hair among the brown now twisted back into her ponytail. The weight of stress had aged but at the same time humanized her appearance. Mother had emerged from the swamp of depression and insanity, and for perhaps the first time, she seemed to carry several years' worth of shame. The guilt in her eyes was new.

Aaron thought back to the confetti scraps of his mother's photo he had once left on the floor of his room. For a time, he thought he had no choice but to destroy his mother. His fury hadn't been satisfied by shredding her portrait. He used to dream about yelling at her, hurting her, killing her; and the anger followed him through every day.

Mother didn't know that he used to punch his pillow to a pulp while imagining her face. She didn't know that he would pour salt or sometimes her own vodka over the flowers that she struggled to grow, as a substitute for hurting her directly. He remembered thinking of her when he threw his math book in anger, violently fought another boy, and yelled at teachers. He lost nearly all respect for his elders. Anger at Mother had steered him on a destructive path, and he started to wonder how much he really hurt her in the process.

Aaron was not a purely innocent victim in the midst of his family's madness; he too had acted out of anger many times. He feared that his angry thoughts and resentful attitude could drive him to become a killer someday if he didn't resolve to control himself. And now, as he thought back on the last few years of his life, he realized just how much _he_ had to repent from.

He sat there beside his mother, humbled and remorseful. He had a lot of work to do and still needed to deal with many lingering issues. He wondered if he would have bad dreams for the rest of his life, plus the occasional violent flashback. Maybe he would learn to live with that, but in the meantime, he needed to heal his relationships and make every effort to live selflessly and avoid hurting others. It would mean enormous daily effort, but he was willing to fight the fight.

He chose to start now.

"I forgive you, Mom." He slowly opened his hands, revealing the flower once again. "Do you forgive me?"

Mother was silent for a minute. Then she raised her head and faced Aaron. Silently, she accepted the flower and cradled it in her palm. Her free arm came around Aaron's shoulders and pulled him gently to her side. Aaron slipped his own arm around her.

"Of course I do," whispered Mother.

They sat together for a long time, admiring the flowers, holding each other close. Mother pressed her cheek to Aaron's temple, and he felt a single wet drop spill into his hair.

Birds sang in the trees nearby. The world smelled like spring. Full of peace.

—-

"Be kind to each other, sympathetic, forgiving each other as God has forgiven you through Christ." _-Ephesians 4:32_


	6. Epilogue -- Promise

**_The following takes place shortly after_** **Criminal Minds** ** _Season 1, Episode 6, "L.D.S.K," and right before Episode 7, "The Fox." As a quick reminder, L.D.S.K. stands for Long Distance Serial Killer, in this case a sniper who injures or kills people in order to treat them in the hospital. Toward the end of the episode, the killer has Hotch and Reid trapped in a room with several other hostages, but the two profilers outwit him._**

—

"You kick like a nine-year-old girl."

Spencer Reid's flippant statement did not abate the anxiety edging around Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner's mind. Ever since that moment back in the hospital when he conceived the escape plan and prayed that Reid would catch on quickly, he felt a twisting, squeezing fear grip around his chest.

He knew that Reid would remember the small Glock 26 strapped to Aaron's ankle, and he knew that the only way to put the weapon to use was to make up an excuse to kick the younger agent until Reid snuck the gun from the holster. It was a long shot, but the plan worked perfectly. Reid sent a well-aimed bullet into the unsub's head seconds before the man would have executed Aaron with his M4A1 rifle.

Reid probably didn't notice how Aaron's voice had gone up in pitch when calling to the SWAT team outside: "Federal agent! Hold your fire!"

Aaron was shaken, but he fought hard to hide it. He knew his hands trembled as the tactical officer cut the zipties that bit into his wrists. If anything, the first responders probably thought he was shaken from being in a hostage situation. But they didn't know that he had faced a loaded gun many times before, even as a youth, and that wasn't enough to scare him.

The thought that he may have hurt Dr. Reid, that he _assaulted_ him the same way he himself had been assaulted so many times as a child—that thought would not leave Aaron alone. As soon as he could, he went out to the emergency vehicles to find Reid. Reid sat on the back edge of an ambulance, cradling Aaron's Glock in his hands. Aaron spent several minutes going over what had happened, trying to ensure that Reid was okay, all the while hoping the young doctor did not sense the unease in his voice. When Reid offered to return the gun, Aaron abruptly told him to keep it, not wanting to take it and let Reid see how badly his hands shook. He could buy a new ankle gun.

As if his nerves weren't already frayed enough, Aaron's phone rang soon after. His anxiety level skyrocketed at the sound of Haley's breathless voice: "The baby's coming, Aaron. He's coming now!"

Aaron was on a case at a hospital in Des Plaines, Illinois, seven hundred twenty-six miles from where his wife was in labor. The temptation to panic overwhelmed him.

"Jessica's driving me to the hospital," said Haley. "Aaron, would you come—please—oh!"

Her moan of pain was a blow to Aaron's heart. "Hang on, okay, just wait for me—I'm coming." His voice was quiet and rushed, barely breaking through his emotionless defense shield. But inside, he was terrified. More than likely, Haley knew how concerned he was despite his apparent calm, just as she knew why he had built the protective mask of outward detachment in the first place.

Not wasting another minute, Aaron got cleared to leave and took the fastest flight back to Virginia. All the while, two nervous thoughts ran races through his mind: the first was the thought of his newborn son, the second was the thought of how easily he had knocked Spencer Reid to the floor and repeatedly kicked him.

Jetlagged, exhausted, and disoriented by the time zone change, Aaron arrived at his city's hospital late the next morning. He hadn't slept a minute on the flight, but he was hyped up on adrenaline that made him feel extra alert. At the same time, it made him extra paranoid.

Haley wasn't answering her cell. Aaron found out what room his wife was in and hurried up to see her.

Too many worries crowded his tired head. For awhile, the doctors had been concerned about Haley having preeclampsia and low blood sugar, and he knew she hadn't been getting enough rest. Aaron would have gladly forgone the whole L.D.S.K. case if only he could have stayed with her for this event. Of course, doing that would have also spared Reid a kicking.

Aaron shook his head, wishing he could stop thinking about what he'd done in the line of duty. He had learned to cope with the torture of his past. Now his own act of violence revived old fears and worries. They were just like the bloody pictures and slain bodies he investigated every day—things that did not belong in his house, not with his family, not anymore. It was his job, his duty, to keep these torments away from those he loved most.

From outside the room, Aaron could hear a radio quietly playing the modern hits, each of them a far cry from the classics he and his sweetheart grew up with. After the nurse notified Haley of Aaron's arrival, she stepped out and let him in. Aaron didn't consider how disheveled he must have looked. He just staggered up to the bed with a huge sigh of relief and crouched beside his resting wife. Haley looked exhausted too, but even with her blond hair a mess and her face free of make-up, she looked lovely to him. Just like she always did. Tangles of light blue sheets covered and surrounded her body like waves of the sea. Nestled up to her side was a small bundle of blue blanket.

Aaron inhaled deeply and leaned closer. Haley gave a tired smile and smoothed back a fold of blanket so he could better see the soft, rosy face of the sleeping newborn.

Aaron's knees settled on the smooth floor, and he tried to steady his breathing. He put a hand to his face, brushed back his dark hair, took another deep breath, shook his head. Tears filled his eyes. He ran his hand over his hair again, breathing in unsteady gasps. His composure quickly melted, something he would never let happen at work. He wiped his eyes and reached for Haley's hand.

"He's beautiful."

Haley nodded, grinning big.

"I am so sorry," Aaron went on. "I should have been here. This was so important, I should have—"

"Shhh," said Haley softly. "It's okay. You were doing your job, saving lives, kicking bad guy butt..."

 _Well, kicking Reid at any rate._

"There's no way you could have been here. Don't apologize; be glad you're here now."

Aaron nodded, still feeling guilty, but knowing not to push it anymore.

Haley raised her chin and nodded toward the bedside table. There stood a glass vase containing a bouquet of rosy, fully blooming flowers. "Your mother sent those," she said with a smile.

"Wow." Aaron admired the perfect blossoms. They took his mind off his worries, if only for a very brief second. "They're looking really good this year."

He soon turned back to his wife and son. The baby looked so tiny, so helpless, so innocent. Aaron was afraid to touch him.

"He will be so happy to meet you when he wakes," said Haley. "Isn't he just perfect?"

"Yes, he really is." Aaron couldn't believe how tiny the baby was. He had a baby brother once, but he must have just forgotten how truly small and dependent infants were. Pressure, responsibility, concern all piled on top of him.

"You can't see them now, but he has your eyes," said Haley, delighted.

 _From a mirror, the same eyes that used to glance back at him with purple lining and angry tears._

Aaron's hand was shaking again. He gently let go of Haley's and gripped the edge of the mattress. He remembered getting kicked in the eye once. He couldn't see through it for two or three weeks afterward. Now he knew he was capable of similar violence, but at the same time, he knew he could not _ever_ put this helpless child through the same pain.

Now that he was gazing at his own son, he thought about all the wrong parenting techniques he had been taught. Simultaneously, he remembered the good parenting models he had learned from his own father and from good families like the Brooks. Now was his turn on the stage. Now he had the chance to choose which part he would play. He had to choose love, not just today at this peaceful moment, but everyday, in every moment, amidst happiness and anger, harmony and conflict. He could not stop loving this boy, ever.

"Is everything alright, Aaron?"

He nodded and chuckled softly to himself. "We haven't even decided on a name yet."

"I liked Jack, remember?"

Aaron hesitated, expression hardening in thought. His hand withdrew from the bed and his brow folded.

Haley sighed. "I know what you're thinking about. Jack the Ripper, right?"

Aaron looked down, traced the bedsheet with his eyes. It was as much a confirmation as if he'd spoken.

Haley nodded knowingly. "And if we picked Jeffrey, you'd think Dahmer. Henry, you'd think Lee Lucas. Charles, you'd think of Manson, or maybe your stepfather. No name is merely a name to you, is it?"

Aaron hadn't divulged all of those thoughts to his wife, but as usual, Haley knew. He gave her a nod, hoping she would agree that Jack also had too much negative connotation. Maybe she would agree to a name like Fido. Nobody named Fido ever killed anybody.

"There's just too many of them," said Aaron. "They're everywhere I look, in everything I read. Anybody could turn out to be one of those monsters you want to hide your children from, and I don't want to name our son after any psychos."

Still, Haley's calm face conveyed that she knew. "Then why don't we name him Jack?"

"I... I don't understand. You just said what came to mind..."

"Aaron, do you think we're going to raise a serial killer because of his name?"

That sounded silly. Aaron twisted his mouth into a frown.

"Don't you think he can make his own choices, just like you and me?" Haley went on.

Aaron said nothing.

Haley smiled slyly. "Maybe it's time you started replacing some bad associations with some good. Not every Jack is named after Jack the Ripper, you know."

"I suppose not. There's also Jack Ruby, Jack Diamond, Jack Robichaux..."

"Aaron, stop." Haley looked him straight in the eye and paused for a second before going on. "There will always be evil people, and many of them appear ordinary. But you've got to accept that there is good too. There are good families, there are good parents, there are good Jacks. The more you mark things in your mind as purely bad, the more your view of the world will become tainted with all the bad things."

Aaron took a deep breath, knowing exactly what she was getting at. He still felt uncomfortable looking directly at her.

"Everybody _is_ capable of evil," said Haley, even softer now. "But our choices are what matter."

Aaron shook his head and allowed himself a short laugh. "Alright," he whispered. "I get it."

"You sure?"

"Of course. Now I want to hold Jack."

Aaron knew that choices mattered, he knew everybody had their own moral battles to fight. He _knew_ that. But in his own struggle, sometimes he needed to be reminded regularly. It was easy falling back into his childhood mindset of fear, but he should not stop struggling against it for a moment.

He was finally feeling confident that he would win today's battle. He leaned over and slipped one hand under Jack's head, the other beneath his little curled-up body. He leaned back a little and began to lift the baby—("Careful," Haley warned; "Got him," he assured her)—and soon Jack was cuddled snuggly in his strong arms. Aaron got to his feet, and the baby calmly woke from his sleep.

Jack froze, staring up at the unfamiliar face. Aaron smiled, whispered some calming gibberish. Jack's wide eyes scanned his face.

Those eyes. They were dark and piercing, curious, and gentle. Aaron's breath caught in his throat. They were his father's eyes.

Jack had gone blurry. Aaron tried to wipe his teary eyes on his shoulder, but he didn't want to move too much and make the baby uncomfortable. So his eyes filled up unhindered and spilled a few big drops onto Jack's blanket.

Aaron let out a trembling exhalation of sheer joy and chuckled through his tears. "Wait till everybody at the BAU sees this little miracle!"

Haley laughed her agreement.

Aaron leaned down to kiss the baby's nose. "I promise to never mar your beautiful face," he whispered so that only Jack could hear.

He started rocking the baby until those big brown eyes began closing again. "I promise to never tell you you're worthless, to never say I hate you, to never put you down."

Haley watched them, and though she couldn't hear Aaron's private promises, she looked happy and content.

"I promise to always hold and protect you, to tell you that I love you, and to let you know how precious you are."

He had been given a gift, trusted with this helpless child, thrust into a position he always feared taking. He had never been anybody's precious gift; he didn't really know how to handle one himself. But he did understand his responsibility, not simply out of duty, but out of pure, selfless love, to protect and raise this child as the most important treasure he had ever been trusted with.

This curious, confused baby in his arms could have ended up with any other couple. He could have been staring up at a pair of monsters right now. He could just as easily have been resting with the World's Greatest Parents. But no, God chose Aaron, for whatever inexplicable reason. Aaron Hotchner, with all his doubts and fears and unerasable mistakes. Aaron Hotchner, a perfect candidate for trouble. Why him? _Why_ trap this baby in the arms of someone so insecure and broken?

Aaron stroked Jack's soft cheek with his finger. The baby had closed his eyes again and breathed steadily as he slept. He had no idea who he would be growing up with. It didn't matter to him.

Aaron didn't have the answers. He might never understand. All he knew was that he had been blessed beyond measure and he would do his best—yes, he would make mistakes, and yes, he would need heaps of help—but he was committed. He would learn to love like never before.

He leaned his face down close to the boy's and slowly kissed the smooth forehead. Another tear soaked into Jack's blanket.

"I will never ever harm you, my son. I promise."

Cradling the baby snuggly to his chest, Aaron began moving gently to the music playing over the scratchy radio. His entire focus was on Jack now, his eyes glued to the baby's tiny face, his grin spreading with each of his son's short breaths. Aaron seemed to forget himself entirely as he rocked the baby, swayed to the music, and quietly sang along as best he could.

Haley watched from the bed, and an internal peace finally filled her heart. As she watched her husband take their baby on his first dance, she knew that, at last, he was healing.

—

 _ **A/N — THE REALITY:**_

 _ **I hope you enjoyed the story. Reviews are appreciated.**_

 _ **As you know, Aaron Hotchner is a fictional character. Child abuse and its effects, however, are very real and often deadly. In the U.S. alone, of the 6 million children who are abused or neglected, an estimated 1,640 children die every year (4 to 5 children per day). Just over 75% of these children are only three years old or younger. Also, three-quarters of child abuse deaths happen at the hands of parents. Worldwide, abuse affects about 40 million children.**_

 _ **The four types of child abuse are physical, emotional, sexual, and neglect. All are incredibly harmful and may have lasting effects on the child. Many children who have been abused repeat the cycle by abusing others, but this is never the only option. Many abused children have become successful adults, loving parents, and stable citizens. Individual choices truly are crucial, and I have seen the results of many different choices.**_

 _ **It is important to consider the distinction between abuse and discipline. I do support the latter within reason. However, the line between the two is often hard to define. In most U.S. state jurisdictions, the law distinguishes abuse as "any act (or failure to act) that:**_

 _ **Results in imminent risk or serious harm to a child's health and welfare due to physical, emotional, or sexual abuse;**_

 _ **affects the child (typically under the age of 18);**_

 _ **by a parent or caregiver who is responsible for the child's welfare."**_

 _ **In most states, people have a legal and moral obligation to report to the authorities if they suspect child abuse or neglect. This can be done anonymously by calling a statewide, toll-free hotline (see list at the end). Unfortunately, I can only speak for U.S. law and customs. I am sure that similar support systems and hotlines have been set up in many other nations as well, which you can probably find out with a little research.**_

 _ **For more details about spotting the signs of abuse and knowing what to do, you can visit the official website of the FBI and enter the search words "child abuse." One of the first few search results is "When You Suspect Child Abuse or Neglect." This link will take you to a brochure that outlines nearly everything you need to know. Another helpful search result is "The Child Victims Brochure." This link gives a lot of helpful information about reporting abuse and talking to the child in question.**_

 _ **If you have been or are being abused, know that there is hope. You can get help by calling your state's abuse hotline or talking to a school counselor, police officer, pastor, or trusted adult. And no matter what, know that Jesus loves you so much He was willing to die in your place so that you can have eternal life with Him, even if your physical body perishes. His love is greater than anything. You can learn more by reading the Bible, especially starting with the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. The entire Bible is available online at sites like Bible Gateway.**_

 _ **Thank you all for reading, and God bless.**_

 _ **Sincerely, LTLS**_

 _ **State Specific Child Abuse Hotlines**_

 **ALABAMA: (334) 242-9500**

 **ALASKA: (800) 478-4444**

 **ARIZONA: (888) SOS-CHILD, or (888-767-2445)**

 **ARKANSAS: (800) 482-5964**

 **CALIFORNIA: (800) 422-4453**

 **COLORADO: (303) 866-5932**

 **CONNECTICUT: TDD: (800) 624-5518, Toll-Free: (800) 842-2288**

 **DELAWARE: (800) 292-9582**

 **DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA: (202) 671-SAFE, or (202-671-7233)**

 **FLORIDA: (800) 96-ABUSE, or (800-962-2873)**

 **GEORGIA: (800) 422-4453**

 **HAWAII: (808) 832-5300**

 **IDAHO: (800) 926-2588**

 **ILLINOIS: Toll-free: (800) 252-2873, Local: (217) 524-2606**

 **INDIANA: (800) 800-5556**

 **IOWA: (800) 362-2178**

 **KANSAS: (800) 922-5330**

 **KENTUCKY: (800) 752-6200**

 **LOUISIANA: (800) 422-4453**

 **MAINE: TTY: (800) 963-9490, Toll-Free: (800) 452-1999**

 **MARYLAND: (800) 422-4453**

 **MASSACHUSETTS: (800) 792-5200**

 **MICHIGAN: (800) 422-4453**

 **MINNESOTA: (800) 422-4453**

 **MISSISSIPPI: Toll-free: (800) 222-8000, Local: (601) 359-4991**

 **MISSOURI: Toll-free: (800) 392-3738, Local: (573) 751-3448**

 **MONTANA: (866) 820-5437**

 **NEBRASKA: (800) 652-1999**

 **NEVADA: Toll-free: (800) 992-5757, Local: (775) 684-4400**

 **NEW HAMPSHIRE: Toll-free: (800) 894-5533, Local: (603) 271-6556**

 **NEW JERSEY: TDD: (800) 835-5510, TTY: (800) 835-5510, Toll-free: (877) 652-2873**

 **NEW MEXICO: Toll-free: (800) 797-3260, Local: (505) 841-6100**

 **NEW YORK: TDD: (800) 369-2437, Toll-free: (800) 342-3720, Local: (518) 474-8740**

 **NORTH CAROLINA: (800) 422-4453**

 **NORTH DAKOTA: (800) 422-4453**

 **OHIO: (800) 422-4453**

 **OKLAHOMA: (800) 522-3511**

 **OREGON: (800) 422-4453**

 **PENNSYLVANIA: (800) 932-0313**

 **PUERTO RICO: Toll-free: (800) 981-8333, Local: (787) 749-1333**

 **RHODE ISLAND: (800) RI-CHILD, or (800) 742-4453**

 **SOUTH CAROLINA: (803) 898-7318**

 **SOUTH DAKOTA: (605) 773-3227**

 **TENNESSEE: (877) 237-0004**

 **TEXAS: Toll-free: (800) 252-5400, Local: (512) 834-3784**

 **UTAH: (800) 678-9399**

 **VERMONT: (800) 649-5285**

 **VIRGINIA: Toll-free: (800) 552-7096, Local: (804) 786-8536**

 **WASHINGTON: TTY: (800) 624-6186, Toll-free: (866) END-HARM, or (866-363-4276), After Hours: (800) 562-5624**

 **WEST VIRGINIA: (800) 352-6513**

 **WISCONSIN: (800) 422-4453**

 **WYOMING: (800) 422-4453**


End file.
